


Spellbound

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Professors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8904694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: A spell gone wrong brings a little chaos to Hogwarts, and to Professors McKay and Sheppard.Hogwarts Professors AU as part of the Stargate Atlantis Secret Santa Exchange, for darkmoore! Happy Holidays and enjoy!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkmoore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/gifts).



> Thanks to tamryneradani for cheerleading and beta work (and my husband, too, the longsuffering demonbloodsausagedog)

The pale third-year fumbled with the book, trying to keep the dusty volume open with one hand while he stirred the cauldron with the other. ” _Vinclanimorum_ ,” he chanted, dropping the book and picking up his wand from the floor. 

Sparks began to form on the surface of the potion, glowing mauve and silver grey, and slithered towards the wand’s tip as the wand hovered a few inches above the liquid.

” _Vinclanimorum in aetern–_ whoa!” 

Tripping over the edge of his robe, the boy stumbled into the cauldron, splashing steaming liquid on his shoes, his notes, his book, and the floor. As he dove to pull the book from the growing puddle, small flames began to lick at his robes.

Frantically trying to extinguish them, he failed to notice the accumulated sparks brighten, then fly upwards and disappear through the ceiling.

\------

Fifteen feet directly above the unfortunate incident, Professor M. R. McKay felt a twinge in his lower back and waved his wand vaguely, summoning a heating pad and sticking it to the offending region without a pause in his frantic scribbling..

\------

Thirty feet directly above _that,_ John Sheppard fell off his couch with a thud.

\------

The Great Hall the next morning was bright, the ceiling reflecting a crisp, clear November day outside. Rodney squinted into the light and grabbed for the carafe of coffee, tugging it out of Professor Zelenka’s hands. Ignoring Radek’s protests, he poured the entire pot into his small mug.

”It is not fair, that spell,” Radek commented. ”It keeps you from learning to share.”

”The elves will make you more,” Rodney said. ”I don't _need_ to share.” He slurped his coffee greedily, fumbling to catch the mail fluttering down on him. 

”That one is mine.” Radek pulled _Zeitschrift für Theoretische Thaumaturgie v.1448 (Sommer-Ausgabe)_ from Rodney’s grasp. ”I do not steal your mail, Rodney.” He flipped the journal open, ignoring Rodney’s glare.

”Fine,” Rodney took three donuts and a plate of bacon. ”The editor’s a hack, anyway.”

”Rodney, Radek, good morning,” Teyla sat down beside Zelenka, reaching for a pot of tea and pouring herself a cup. ”Did you sleep well?”

About to reply, Radek was silenced by the appearance of Headmistress Weir, sweeping into the room in her usual stylish robes. The group turned her way as she moved to the podium.

”Good morning, students,” she smiled out at the tables as the children quieted. ”I hope you all are enjoying your classes and learning new things.” Her face turned stern. ”However, I would like to remind you all about our policy on advanced magic.” Leaning forward, elbows resting on the podium, she elaborated, gesturing pointedly. ”Students are welcome to learn about subjects beyond their current level. In fact, we encourage it. However, such study must be under the supervision of a teacher, and conducted during normal class hours. There is to be no after-hours experimenting. She turned to the professors’ table. ”If you have questions, please speak with your heads of house and your professors. I'm sure they will be happy to help you plan your course of studies. Thank you.”

”What was _that_ all about?” asked Rodney.

Ronon, on Teyla’s other side, shrugged. ”Must've been the spell last night.”

”What spell?” 

Teyla and Ronon exchanged glances. ”You did not sense it?” Teyla looked at Ronon. ”It was late in the evening, was it not? Past midnight.”

”Powerful,” agreed Ronon. ”Went wrong, though.”

”That's what I sensed,” said Teyla. ”I assumed it was a faculty member, though, not a student.”

”Hey, guys.” John Sheppard pulled a chair over, nudging it between Teyla and Ronon. ”What’s going on?”

”Apparently a student has tried something far beyond their level,” said Radek. ”We do not know more than that, but the Headmistress was not pleased.”

”Huh.” Sheppard sat, leaning back thoughtfully. ”I had a feeling something like that was going on. Things were–” he paused, searching– ” _hinky_ , last night.”

”Oh, thank you for that astute observation. Hinky? Really?” Rodney grabbed another turnover as the clock chimed. ”Thank you very much, Mr. Precision.”

”Rodney, you will be late for your class,” Radek chided. ”Again.”

”Yes, yes, yes. Going.” Rodney pushed back his chair and stood, stretching, and followed Radek out of the Great Hall. ”Hey, did you see Kavanaugh’s piece in the new _Transfiguration_ issue? I can’t believe someone published that clown.”

”I did. It was very similar to a paper you and I wrote in sixth year, was it not?”

”That’s what I mean! I’m going to write a letter to the editor. Or fire-call them! Yes. I’m sure I still have the scroll somewhere with the original– _ow!_ ”

”Rodney?” Radek stopped and turned as Rodney rubbed his lower back. ”What is the matter?”

”Something–” Rodney turned, trying to look down his robe’s collar. ” _Lumos!_ ” Sticking his wand into the opening, he squinted at his waist. ”What is _that?_ ”

”Are you all right?” 

”No. No, I’m definitely not. Radek, cancel my class.” Rodney extinguished his light and sped away, leaving an exasperated Radek frowning in his wake.

\------

”Be with you in a moment, Rodney.”

”Oh, all right, I’ll just sit here and slowly _rot away from a flesh-eating plague_ , shall I?”

”You can rot for five minutes while I finish my paperwork.” Beckett slid the curtain shut with a snap of his wand and returned to his seat, shaking his head.

The door creaked open and a broad shadow fell over Doctor Beckett’s desk. ”Doc. Got a patient for you.”

Ronon stood in the infirmary doorway, one hand resting on the head of a very small boy. Aiden Ford, Beckett remembered. Gryffindor. First year. He clutched his arm, which seemed to be swelling rapidly and turning a shade of chartreuse.

”What seems to be the matter, Mr. Ford? I’m fairly certain that’s not the color your arm was this morning.” Beckett said gently, bending down to look the boy in the face. ”Hop on up.” He shooed the boy to a bed and helped him up.

Beckett narrowed his eyes, taking in the small, grinning figure on the cot, then turned to Ronon. ”Professor Ronon. You know the first year curriculum doesn’t include dueling, don’t you?”

Ronon crossed his arms. ”So what.”

”Well, we do try to avoid major injuries in small children. So perhaps restrict your advanced lessons to slightly larger pupils, aye?” He tugged Aiden’s sleeve up, then sighed. ”Off with it.” The boy complied, and Beckett tapped his wand on his shoulder and muttered a few words, watching the swelling fade. The color remained, but it was far improved.

Ronon shrugged. ”Old enough to ask for lessons, old enough to learn it. Gotta get better at that block, Ford.”

Aiden nodded eagerly. ”Yes, sir.” He frowned at Carson, who had pulled his shirt back over his head and was trying to maneuver his now-numbed arm into a sling. ”Please, Dr. Beckett? Can I go back to office hours? I’ll just watch this time, I promise!”

”Why you children want to put yourselves through this madness, I’ll never know.” Carson waved his wand, pulling herbs through the air and pulverizing them as they floated into a jar. Tapping it gently, three times, he capped the jar and shook it vigorously. ”There. Put that on your shoulder tonight before bed, and absolutely no wand work with that hand for at least twelve hours.” Meeting his sad, begging eyes, he sighed heavily. ”And yes, as long as you rest afterwards, you may observe the end of Professor Ronon’s mad fighting hour.”

Ford bounded upright with a bright thanks and scurried out of the room, Ronon following.

”Why they like that bear-man, I’ll never know,” Rodney said, poking his head around the curtain surrounding his cot. ”He’s basically feral. _Now_ will you come look at this?”

”Now Rodney, no need for jealousy,” Carson chided. ”You’ve got your own little admirers among the student body, you’re well aware. Now lay back.” Carson stopped at Rodney’s feet, hands on his hips. ”What seems to be the problem this time?”

Rodney wriggled a little on the bed. ”Aside from your eight-thread-count sheets? Just _look!_ ” Tugging his shirt up, he revealed the mark. ”It’s a tumor, isn’t it? Or an acromantula bite? I knew I shouldn’t have let Teyla drag me into the forest.”

”If you’d just hold still and let me examine you–” Beckett leaned in, narrowing his eyes. ”Well, that’s certainly not something you see every day, son,” he said. ”Who’ve you gone and gotten yourself soul-bound to?”

”Soul–” Rodney struggled upright, tugging his shirt up higher and twisting to stare at the symbol. ”Oh, no no no. What do you mean, _soul-bound_? Use your voodoo witchery and get it off me!”

”You know as well as I do, Rodney, once you’ve been hit with a binding it’s only the partners who can resolve it. Now, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Just tell me who it is, and I’ll fetch them and we can sort this out.”

”Believe me, Carson, if I knew, I would tell you so you could get _rid_ of it.” He stopped moving for a moment, squinting, struck by a thought. ”Unless it’s Professor Esposito. I could live with that.”

”Could _she,_ though,” muttered Carson, prodding Rodney with his wand. ”No, I can’t tell who the caster is. I’m sorry, but unless I’ve you both in a room, I can’t do a thing about it.”

Rodney threw his hands up. ”Well what good are you, then?”

Carson ignored the comment. “You know, the Headmistress may know more. I assume this was the large magic she spoke of that someone conducted last night?”

Groaning, Rodney flopped back on the cot. “You mean it’s a _student?_ A _student_ did this to me?”

“Apparently so. Headmistress Weir should be back tonight; I’m certain she’d be happy to tell you if she knows anything.” Carson tucked his wand in his pocket. “Well, you’re perfectly fine otherwise, though you could stand to eat fewer doughnuts so as to give your arteries a break.” He opened the curtain and sat back at his desk. “Go on, get to class.” When Rodney hesitated, Carson softened. “It’ll get sorted out, lad, I promise. It just may take some time.”

\-----

On his way to his first class Rodney knew as soon as his foot landed on the first step of the fourth staircase that he'd made a mistake not paying attention to his path. He could almost _feel_ Hogwarts’ glee. He grabbed the railing just in time as the stair he stood on ripped away from the wall with a _creak_. He tried not to look up at the students on the flight above but he was sure they were laughing at him.

The staircase swung around and Rodney hung on grimly, trying not to be thrown off by its jerking movements.

Then its path smoothed, clicking into place with a whisper of a noise, and Rodney, swallowed, trying to keep his breakfast down.

“Hey, Professor,” said Sheppard, leaning on the bannister at the top of the flight. “What's happening?”

“Just trying to keep this _insane castle_ from murdering me.” Rodney walked carefully up the remaining steps, but they stayed reassuringly solid. “That's just what I needed today.”

“She just likes to have fun with you,” Sheppard said, patting the wall.

“Oh, sure.” Rodney stepped onto the landing and sighed. “Now I just have to make it through the imbeciles in Transfiguration without getting turned into a newt.”

“Transfiguration?” They started up the next flight, the stairs behaving themselves. “Why are you teaching Transfiguration?”

“Apparently, a full course load and headmistress duties are too much for Elizabeth, and she’s finally been convinced to give up some courses. So now I'm stuck teaching children how to do useless things like turn matchsticks into needles. Neither of which we need, by the way. Don't they know we're wizards?” They rounded the corner into the corridor, students scampering out of Rodney's way and smiling and waving at John.

“You don't use matches?”

“No! I use _incendio,_ like any self-respecting wizard. Come on, when did you last use a match?”

John grinned. “Yesterday.”

“Yest-? Oh, all right, funny man. If I survive the children, I'll see you later.”

“Enjoy the Gryffindors, Rodney,” said John.

Rodney shook his head. “Third year Gryffindors. What did I do to deserve this? Yes, I'm talking about you.” He glared at a small crowd of students hovering outside the classroom.

“I’m sure you’ll inspire them all.” John slapped Rodney on the back and took the next staircase up towards his chambers and Rodney looked forlornly at the classroom door.

\-----

Rodney stood up from his chair before the third years were even out of the room. Bouncing on his heels, he contemplated the research he'd been planning on working on for the afternoon, but somehow it didn't seem all that appealing. 

A beam of sunlight was cutting his classroom in half, illuminating the dust floating in eddies around the door, and Rodney found himself wondering what the weather was like outside.

He leaned toward the window, blinking in the brightness. His weather spell appeared in the corner, reporting a comfortable 22.4 degrees, with a slight breeze and no predicted precipitation. Casting one last, mystified glance down at the bag of research scrolls on his shoulder, he pushed out the door and down the stairs, which behaved for once and let him travel unimpeded all the way to the ground level. Poking his head out the front door, he breathed in warm air, smelling of leaves and grass. 

“Why not,” he muttered. “Maybe it'll inspire me.”

It was indeed a beautiful day, he had to admit. Walking down the path towards the Quidditch field, he cast a sunscreen charm and turned his face up into the sunlight.

Small figures rushed around the field, way up high, and he settled himself on a bench and pulled out his notes. He'd just begun reviewing them when a shadow blocked his light. Scowling, he looked up, about to unleash a rant on whoever it was.

“Enjoying the day, Rodney?” asked Sheppard, broom stock still despite the slight breeze. “Or just finally learning something about Quidditch?”

“Excuse me, I know how Quidditch works.” Rodney rolled up his scroll and folded his arms. 

“Just because you know the rules doesn't mean you know the game,” said John. “Come on, we need one more for even sides.”

“You wouldn't catch me dead on one of those things,” said Rodney. “Whoever thought cleaning supplies were meant for air travel should be shot.”

“Someday I'll get you up on one,” John promised.

“Good luck with that,” Rodney flapped his hands. “Now shoo, you're blocking my light.”

He made it through one paragraph of notations when another shadow loomed over him.

“You're outside,” said Ronon. “Never seen you out here.”

Rodney threw his hands up. “What, is it illegal to go outside on a nice day, now? Did I not get the memo? Come on, people! Move along, the next zoo exhibit is somewhere _else!_ ”

Ronon grinned. “Sunlight’s a good look for you. Maybe you'll get a tan.”

Sheppard landed beside Ronon. “You're looking a little red there already, buddy. Right-” he pointed at Rodney’s nose, which, now that he was thinking about it, _did_ feel a little crisped. Gotta remember that sunscreen.” And Sheppard reached into his robe’s pocket, pulling out a bag with tube inside and dropping it on Rodney’s lap.

“SPF 75 and hypoallergenic?!” Rodney stared up at John. “Where did you get this?”

John shrugged. “You're not the only one with sensitive skin.”

“But this is _muggle_ sunscreen,” he said. “You can't get this in Hogsmeade.”

John was starting to look a little uncomfortable. “I mean, there are other places. Muggle places.”

Rodney dug in the bag, pulling out a paper receipt. “How did you find a muggle store this _morning_?”

John shrugged. “Just take the sunblock, Rodney.” And with that, he hopped back on his broom and flew back up.

“Touchy,” Ronon commented. “He's been spending too much time with you.”

Rodney ignored him.

\------

By the time Elizabeth returned that afternoon from whatever business she had with Jack O’Neill, the Minister of Magic, Rodney was starting to panic.

Nothing had _happened_ , was the problem.

The mark was just there, on his back, just barely in his field of vision if he contorted himself around. It wasn’t hurting, or glowing, or tugging him inexorably to whatever lay on the other end of the bond. 

No, he felt– _good,_ actually. Really good. No aching back, no stuffy nose or watery eyes from the eternal Hogwarts dust, nothing. It was _weird_ , and he didn’t like it. So seven o’clock in the evening found him standing impatiently in front of the gargoyle that guarded her office, pacing back and forth in the small corridor.

Finally, the statue swung back, opening the door to the staircase that curved up and out of sight, and Rodney shouldered his way in before it had even finished opening, hurrying up the steps to the office.

“Rodney,” said the Headmistress, sitting behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“There was a spell last night, right? Something big?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Yes, there was.” She leaned forward. “Rodney, did you do something?”

“What? No!” he cried, affronted. “Something was done _to me_!”

Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her face and sat down, gesturing at the chair beside her desk.

\-----

“She didn’t have _any_ suggestions!” Rodney waved his fork, a dollop of potato falling dangerously close to Teyla’s plate. She eyed it, then picked up her roll and buttered it neatly.

“Nothing?” She asked.

“Well, she said if it’s not affecting me, I shouldn’t worry about it.” He looked glum. “She said we’ll figure it out, but I could be _dead_ by then.”

“Rodney, if there were something to be worried about, Elizabeth would tell you,” chided Teyla. “There is nothing we can do until we know more.” 

“Something’s wrong,” said Rodney abruptly, squinting at the door. “Teyla, did you feel that?”

“I did,” she replied, tilting her head slightly, eyes going a little out of focus. “Rodney, you are making progress. I did not realize you could already sense disruptions at this level.”

“I usually can’t,” he replied, distracted. “I thought it took years of meditation practice to do that? We’ve only had two lessons.”  
  


“It generally does,” she said. “Wex,” she called to one of the house elves, who had stopped dead in his tracks nearby with a tray of pastries. “Do you know what happened?”

“John Sheppard has just been apparated to the infirmary,” he said, distressed. “He had just picked up his lunch and a student saw him faint in the corridor!”

“What?” demanded Rodney. “When? Where?”

The elf flicked his eyes towards Rodney, then back to Teyla. “Just a moment ago. The castle is very upset about it.”

Rodney pushed his chair back, standing. “He’s in the infirmary?”

Wex nodded.

“Teyla, save me some of that pie,” he instructed, and set off towards the door.

Moments later, he burst into the infirmary, panting. “What happened?” 

Carson frowned, drawing precise symbols in the air with his wand over Sheppard’s prone body. “I’m still trying to find out, Rodney. It appears Mr. Sheppard ate something that didn’t agree with him.”

“What do you mean?”

Carson tucked his wand away, picking up a quill and leaning over his desk. “Has John ever mentioned an allergy to you? There’s nothing in his file that suggests anything.”

“No!” Rodney halted a few feet from the bed, leaning forward and peering at John. “No, he’s definitely not allergic to anything. He told me that specifically.”

“Well. He may not have known. Although the only thing he’s eaten lately is a satsuma, which I know he’s eaten before without a problem.”

Rodney froze. “A satsuma?”

“Yes, the house elves seem to have gotten some sort of deal on them. They’re all over the castle.”

“Carson–” Rodney hesitated. “Is there any way a spell can transfer an allergy?”

“Transfer? What are you saying, lad?”

“ _I’m_ allergic to citrus!”

“Yes, I know that, Rodney– _oh._ Oh my word.” He pushed up from his chair and bustled to John’s side, rolling him gently and poking at his robe with his wand, opening a flap. “Well.” He looked up at Rodney. “That’s one mystery solved, isn’t it.”

“You mean I’ve been bound to _Sheppard?_ ”

“This must be why you were spotted on the quidditch field.” Zelenka’s head poked around a curtain a few beds down. “I know it was not your own choice.”

“Radek, perhaps it would be best for you to come back later,” said Beckett. “This situation is rather delicate.”

“Seriously?” Rodney glared at Carson. “I thought we had doctor-patient confidentiality?”

Radek patted Rodney’s shoulder as he passed. “I am sure you and John will be very happy together, Rodney.” He closed the door behind him, still chuckling.

Once the door was securely shut, Carson turned back to Rodney, serious. “The good news is that now that we’ve identified both parties, I can figure out the precise nature of the spell. Is there any chance–any at all, mind you–that _you_ cast this spell?”

“What? No!” Rodney met Carson’s eyes very briefly. “No, of course not!”

“Rodney.”

“No!”

“ _Rodney._ ”

“I mean, I may have–I may have _considered_ Sheppard as a–as an attractive human being, generally speaking, _yes!_ But I would _never_ do something like this, Carson, I swear!”

“I believe you.” Carson leaned back against his desk. “Now, take off your robe and sit down.”

\------

“Well.” Carson frowned over his parchment. “I’ve not seen a case like this before.”

“What do you mean?” Rodney, fully clothed once again, sat on his cot, leaning towards Carson’s desk. “You can fix it, right?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure how yet,” said Carson. “It’s a sort of a _vinclanimorum_ , but it’s not linked the way it should be. And if neither of you cast it, the traditional breaking methods aren’t going to be good enough.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, lad, I’m going to have to do some more research before I can solve this one.”

John groaned quietly, shifting on his cot. 

“Now,” Carson grimaced. “Do you want to tell John?”

Rodney sprung up and edged toward the door. “I’m, um, I’m going to go see what the library has on bonding spells.” He snorted. “It’s not like you’re likely to figure it out in your voodoo books up here.” He vanished out the door.

\-----

“So.” 

Rodney startled, whacking his head on a hefty tome floating in the air. “Ouch! What? What? Oh.” He looked at John warily. “Um.”

“Soul-bonded?”

“Apparently.”

“And now I can’t have satsumas?”

“Or oranges. Lemons. Limes. Grapefruits. Kumquats.”

“Kumquats?” John’s serious face cracked a little. “That’s a thing?”

Rodney huffed. “A _delicious_ thing, if my sister Jeannie is to be believed.” 

John flopped down in a chair. “So, What’ve you found?”

“Honestly? Not much.” He handed John a scroll. “Try this one.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Oh, a magic cure for a soul bond? Failing that, a way to find the castor to reverse it.”

John opened the scroll and skimmed a few lines. “Oh, hey– _’to divine the creator–’_ oh, no, that’s for charms. Hey, what if it’s a charm?”

“Can we keep things relevant here? And it’s way too powerful to be a charm.”

“Right, because it actually changed us. Making you go outside and putting me in danger from lemons.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Sheppard, focus. Unless you want to start having my recurring whale nightmares.”

John paused. “Wait. You think that’s possible?”

“Who knows!”

“Because I don’t know how you feel about clowns...”

Rodney heroically ignored this, focusing on his book, and John grinned and pulled open the next parchment.

\-----

“Well, gentlemen, any luck?” Professor Weir rested her hands on the table, taking in the giant mess of open books, parchment, scrolls and quills spread between the two men.

Rodney rubbed his face. “You want the long answer or the short one?”

“The short one, please.”

“Then no,” said John.

“But did you know that there are over eight hundred different types of binding spells?” asked Rodney. “There’s a spell to bind your budgie to your broomstick so it can’t fly off.”

“Helpful if you have a budgie,” John said. “Not so helpful for us.”

“So nothing?”

“Well, not quite.” Rodney sat up, wincing as his back crackled, and fumbled through a pile of papers. “I’ve found a few references to what’s apparently called _ligandi_ , a forced binding, and how to break it, and it all depends on the strength of the spell and the astrological conditions when it’s cast and–”

“Not nothing, but nothing useful yet,” interrupted John. “We’ll let you know.”

“If there’s anything you need, let me know,” she said, eying the disorder. “This is among my top priorities.”

“Well,” Rodney said, “That Transfiguration class–”

“Nice try, Rodney. But you’re still teaching the third years. Nothing short of a coma will get you out of that.” She turned towards the door.

“Hang on, Elizabeth.” John picked up the parchment he’d been studying. “This might be something we can use.”

“What is it?”

John handed the paper to Rodney, who read it quickly. “It’s an enchantment information spell, but we’re going to need your help to work it.”

She took the parchment and skimmed it quickly, eyebrows raised. “Stop _all_ spellwork in Hogwarts? For an hour? John, that’s–that’s impossible. We’d have to speak to the house elves, and the students, and pause the cleaning spells, and maybe even move the creature residents to the forest.”

“I’ll talk to the house elves, and I have the keys to the master upkeep spells. We need to do this. Or we’ll be stuck like this forever.” 

“Please, Elizabeth? Just for an hour,” Rodney wheedled. “I can talk to the students, make an announcement. They won’t want to risk annoying me.”

Elizabeth folded her arms. “You’re sure it will work? I won’t disrupt an entire castle on a ‘maybe’.”

“I’m sure,” said Rodney quickly.

“All right.” She said, though she looked dubious. “The prefects’ curfew is midnight and the house elves begin breakfast preparations at 3 am. So from 1 to 2 tomorrow morning, you have your chance. I’ll make an announcement at dinner.”

\------

The astronomy tower was chilly in the middle of the night, and Rodney was glad he’d worn his muggle fleece under his robes. It was soft and warm and he would never admit that he liked the embroidered MIT logo, which reminded him of late nights arguing with Jeannie about simple, straightforward physics and forgetting all about his adopted world of magic.

The top floor was dark, lit only by the light of the moon and stars, and a movement in the edge of his vision made him flinch back. “John,” he said, putting a hand on his chest to still his pounding heart. “You’re just lurking here in the dark?”

John shrugged, his silhouette becoming clearer as Rodney’s eyes adjusted. “I like it up here.”

“It’s cold,” said Rodney.

“You’re Canadian,” retorted John. “and a wizard.”

“No magic while we cast this, remember?”

“You’ll just have to keep your mittens on, then,” said John, hopping down from his perch on the merlon. ”Are we ready?”

Rodney pulled out his notes and his wand. “First things first,” he said. “Do you have your token?”

John dug in his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it out.

“You know it doesn’t have to be a _literal_ token, right?” asked Rodney suspiciously. “Just an important personal thing.”

“I know, Rodney,” said John, as Rodney took the coin carefully. “It is.”

“Fine,” said Rodney, sitting down awkwardly on the floor and setting the coin down on a handkerchief. From his own pocket, he pulled a Rubiks cube, almost completely solved. “Okay.” He held out his hands. “Well, come on, now!”

John sat down across from him and reached out carefully, taking Rodney’s hands in his. 

“Whoa,” said Rodney. “Do you feel that?”

John nodded, shivering.

Rodney swallowed audibly. The night was quiet, the only sounds the wind whistling through the forest. The silence was familiar and a little unsettling, and he realized suddenly that it was the silence of his childhood, of the muggle world. No barely-there hum of cleaning spells, no whispering of apparations and summonings, no faint warmth from nearby firecalls, just the silence of the physical world.

Through it all, though, there was something else. He could feel it pulsing now that everything else was pushed aside, pulling him closer to the man in front of him. His palms were warm where they touched John’s, warmer than they should be in the chilly night.

“ _Sciscitatio_ ,” whispered John, and Rodney dropped, or he thought he did, until he realized that somehow he could still feel himself sitting on cold stone, faintly. But instead of the darkened astronomy tower, in front of him was a bubbling cauldron, out of focus and sending small splashes to the stone floor.

“ _That’s our tower_ ,” said John’s voice in his head, crackling green and blue in the corner of his eyes. “ _The moon is full, so this was last night._ ”

“ _Who’s that?_ ” asked Rodney as a blurry figure stepped up to the cauldron. The view was strange, as if they were watching through gauze, blurry and blotchy. The person left trails of light behind them, like they were in a few places at once.

“ _I can’t tell_ ,” said John. “ _But that–_ ” Rodney felt his attention pulled to a tome splayed out on the floor beside the potion– “ _that is Grathom’s Compendium._ ”

“ _Oh, no,_ ” moaned Rodney. “ _Grathom? We’re screwed._ ”

The figure picked up its wand and waved it, chanting something unintelligible, and then stepped back, directly onto the trailing edge of his robe.

Rodney winced as the person–kid, he was pretty sure, judging by the size–tripped and knocked into the cauldron, splashing liquid everywhere. The vision began to blur around the edges as the figure flailed, grabbing for book and wand as sparks flew upwards from the cauldron. They disappeared through the ceiling as Rodney’s eyes focused back in on John’s face in the dark of the astronomy tower.

John’s eyes caught his and held them, his hands still warm with the residual magic of the spell. 

“Well,” said Rodney. “We know where to start.”

John nodded, his fingers tightening on Rodney’s for a second, then releasing and pulling back to rest on his knees. Rodney pulled back more slowly, his hands cold without John’s against them.

\------

“I remember why I hate Grathom,” said Rodney, disgust filling his voice as he slammed the book shut. They’d gotten lucky: though the library’s copy was still missing (and, judging by the scorch marks on the floor of the room the spell had been cast in, not in great shape wherever it was), John had apparently managed to convince the Room of Requirement to cough up another copy. Rodney had tried (and failed) to not envy John’s relationship with the castle; if he’d been the one to ask, he probably would have walked into a room full of his students’ worst papers when the door materialized, rather than a well-appointed library annex. 

“Why’s that, Rodney?” asked John, stretching from his cramped lean over the book.

“Because his spells are _weird_. Weird, and, and nonsensical. The man obviously had some pretty serious issues with his father, for one–why would a spell for love involve your dad’s tooth, I ask you?”

John shuddered. “I didn’t see that one.” Leaning forward again, he flipped the page and scanned it. When he pulled it over and began rereading, more carefully this time, Rodney scooted closer and read over his shoulder.

“Oh, this is good!” he said. “This might be what we’re looking for.”

“Keep reading,” said John, voice tight.

“Does it say how to–” Rodney broke off, eyebrows drawing together. “ _Oh_. Oh, this isn’t saying–”

“I think it is.” John looked faintly pale, just two spots of red on his cheeks in an otherwise pallid face. “There’s gotta be another way.”

\------

The knock on John’s door was almost timid, hesitant, and he made himself take a deep breath before pulling the door open.

“Hey, Rodney,” he said, stepping aside.

Rodney edged inside and closed the door behind himself.

“So we have to do this?” He sat gingerly on John’s only chair, eyeing the bed suspiciously. “There’s no other way?”

“Nope. This is it.” John leaned against the doorframe, not meeting Rodney’s eyes. “Rodney–” he started, then cut himself off. 

“Well, I mean– at least it’s you?” Rodney said hesitantly, leaning forward. “At least it’s not _Kavanaugh_.”

“Or Woolsey,” John added, making a face. 

Rodney shuddered. “Or a _student._ ”

“Or the squid,” said John, cracking a little bit of a smile.”Could be worse.”

“Oh my god, yes,” said Rodney. “It could most definitely be worse.”

The silence stretched for a few seconds before Rodney stood up and took a step towards the doorway. As he inched closer, John stiffened incrementally.

“Look, you said it yourself. We have to do this” Rodney said, a note of pleading entering his voice. “It’s weird and awkward, but otherwise you’re stuck drinking cranberry juice the rest of your life. John–”

John flinched a bit at the sound of his name.

“Come on,” said Rodney. “Let’s get this over with.” He reached out and put a tentative hand on John’s shoulder.

John gritted his teeth and let Rodney lead him to the bed. Sitting them both down on the edge, Rodney unfastened his robe and shrugged it off his shoulders, revealing muggle khakis and a tee shirt. John did the same and folded his robe neatly on the bedside table while Rodney tossed his on the floor, kicking his shoes off beside it. 

Rodney turned to John and reached out a hand, curling it around John’s shoulder. “Okay?”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fifteen year old girl, Rodney. Come on.” His hands came up and slid behind Rodney’s head, burying themselves in wispy hair. Tugging Rodney closer, he pressed his lips to Rodney’s.

Rodney’s hand tightened on his shoulder, his other groping for John’s side and finding purchase at his waist. John’s mouth was warm against his, confident and firm, and Rodney leaned in closer, scooting down the bed and curling his arm further around John. Letting out a short, muffled moan, he slid his hand under John’s shirt to brush warm skin.

John shivered as Rodney moved, leaning back and letting Rodney push him down until they lay flat together, Rodney half on top of him. His hands drifted down, slow and not nearly as confident as his mouth, until they reached Rodney’s waist and stayed there, fingers moving in aimless circles.

Wriggling a little to get purchase, Rodney had no such compunctions. His hands impatiently shoved at John’s shirt, pushing it up to his sternum, then fumbled with John’s belt.

When it didn’t open immediately, he pulled away from John’s mouth and groped for his wand in his robe off the edge of the bed and John let out a snort. “Don’t blow up my clothes, Rodney. Give me a second.”

“Stupid Muggles and their buckles,” Rodney grumbled, reluctantly lifting up a bit so John could undo the belt. “Ridiculous.”

“If they opened easy my pants’d fall off,” John said, reasonably.

“What if I _want_ your pants to fall off?” Rodney asked, narrowing his eyes. 

John pulled him back down, groaning as Rodney’s clever hands wiggled into the back of his boxers.

Rodney pulled away again, this time to say, “You have a lot more butt than your robes give away, you know.”

For that, John rolled him over, surprising a yelp out of Rodney, and reached down, one-handed, to unbutton Rodney’s slacks.

Rodney pushed at John’s shirt, tugging his free arm through the sleeve and yanking it over his head. It got stuck on John’s chin and he paused, trying to free John without having to pull his hand out of John’s pants. John solved the problem by pulling the shirt off himself and getting to work on Rodney’s.

Finally skin on skin, John pushed up on his elbows, giving Rodney a lingering once-over. Rodney reddened under the attention, pink starting at his cheeks and spreading out to his ears and down his chest. Rodney shivered as he took in John above him, eyes flicking from John’s face to his arms, chest, and stomach, toned and dusted with hair.

The moment felt important, somehow, and he reached up, running his hands through John’s hair and around the nape of his neck, letting them linger on his jaw, his thumbs on John’s cheekbones. John’s eyelids fluttered and he leaned into the touch.

“This is okay?” asked Rodney again. “I mean, I know it has to be, and I’m actually having a really good time, and I don’t really _want_ to stop, but–”

“We’re good, Rodney,” said John, and leaned down to run his lips over Rodney’s earlobe and down his neck, shifting his weight against him. “Come on, relax and enjoy yourself.” He shifted again, this time deliberately grinding down, and Rodney squeaked and pulled John down again, kissing him fiercely.

They ground together, rocking as they kissed, and Rodney worked both their pants downwards, kicking them off their ankles. John’s whole body was firm and hot and Rodney couldn’t keep his hands off it, trying to touch every part.

The two pairs of pants found their way to the floor, crumpled in a heap atop Rodney’s robe, and John slid downward to rest his forearms on Rodney’s thighs, staring up at him and grinning.

“Oh my god,” said Rodney. “If I took a picture right now the camera might actually break. Do you have _any_ idea what you look like right now?”

John ran his hand through his even more mussed than usual hair and grinned, cocky. “It’s hard not to look good like this, Rodney.” He ran his hand down Rodney’s belly to his thigh, just skirting his hairline, and Rodney thrust up helplessly.

“Oh my _god,_ Sheppard, _do_ something!” he whined, and John actually laughed out loud. 

“Like what, Rodney?”

“I don’t even care, as long as it involves your mouth and my cock!”

“That’s pretty specific, there, buddy,” John replied, lowering his head until the head of Rodney’s cock hovered just outside his lips. “But you know what, I think I can manage that.” He wrapped one hand around the base and curled his lips around the head, sliding down slowly.

Rodney arched, moaning, and John closed his eyes, getting a rhythm and rocking his pelvis into the mattress in time with his mouth.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Rodney. “Come up–” he patted John’s shoulder. “Turn around, I want to–”

“You _are_ a genius,” said John through his mouthful of cock. Turning around took just a minute, and Rodney grabbed his legs, spreading John out with his knees straddling Rodney’s head. 

When Rodney took him into his mouth, John tried not to collapse onto him and smother him in balls. Instead he focused on Rodney’s cock, heavy and hot in his mouth. He reached around Rodney’s back for his mark, feeling for it against the warm sheets, and pressed his hand against it as he worked Rodney’s cock.

Then Rodney’s hand was on his shoulder, shoving frantically. “Wait wait wait. Sheppard! Stop stop stop!”

John threw himself backwards at the urgency in Rodney’s voice. “What? What’s wrong?”

Rodney pulled himself to the edge of the bed and hunched over, gripping his cock. “No! Nothing! I just–the spell, I’m pretty sure we have to be, you know, actually having sex!”

“I thought that’s what we were doing?” John put a hand on his chest, trying to calm his pounding heart and push down his fight-or-flight instinct.

“It has to be _intercourse,_ Sheppard! And I’m not twenty-five anymore, if I come now it’s lights out for at least six hours.” 

John rolled his eyes. “Fine, okay.” He pulled himself to the edge of the bed. “You good to top?”

Rodney’s mouth dropped open. “Um. Yes? I didn’t think–”

“Good.” John interrupted and pulled out his wand. “ _Hypopitto_!” 

“You have a _lube spell?_ ” Rodney’s intellectual curiosity fought with his arousal for a moment, making him lean over and poke an inquisitive finger in John’s crack.

John batted the finger away. “Yes, I do. And it’s not for science, it’s for fucking.” He lay back and waggled his eyebrows. “Now come here.”

Rodney obeyed, straddling one of John’s legs and looking down at him hungrily. “You’re less hairy than I expected,” he observed, then bent his head to tug one of John’s nipples into his mouth.

“Is that–” John gasped and shuddered. “Is that a good thing?”

Rodney lifted his head and grinned. “Sheppard, you’re one of the hottest people I have _ever_ seen. I don’t care how much hair you’ve got.” He reached up and pushed his hand through the mop of hair on John’s head. “Frankly, I think you’ve got plenty up here to spare.” His hand pushed downwards, curling around John’s cock. “God, John. You’re just–” He interrupted himself by biting John’s nipple, hard.

John arched off the bed a solid three inches, panting. Rodney jacked him steadily, pulling him up on his side, his other hand sliding between John’s legs to stroke behind his balls before brushing against his hole. 

He was wet with lube from the spell, and Rodney shivered. Edging closer, he pressed his fingers into John, two fitting in easily. He scissored them gently, working a third in, and John’s breath hitched.

“Rodney,” he said, cheeks flushed. “Come on!” He pulled a knee up, reaching for Rodney’s elbow and tugging him downward.

“Okay, okay, don’t rush me,” said Rodney, continuing to piston his fingers, and sort of flopped forward awkwardly.

John ignored the move and groaned as Rodney’s torso pressed against him. Reaching down, he pulled Rodney’s fingers out more roughly than Rodney would have himself, and grabbed Rodney’s hips. “Come _on,_ ” he said again, and Rodney lined himself up, pressing in.

He had to pause halfway in, forcing himself not to just bury himself in John‘s warm body. John’s eyes were closed, his mouth open, and as Rodney slid slowly in until his belly pressed against John’s he fought down a wave of fondness and affection for the man below him.

The heat of John’s body was almost overwhelming, and the soft feeling was quickly swept aside by frantic need. John’s fingers dug bruises into his hips as he rocked back a little, then a little more.

The bed creaked as John tugged him in faster, urging him on with his hands and pushing up to meet him, one leg wrapped around Rodney’s waist. Rodney barely noticed the sweat dripping off his forehead and chest as he planted a hand on the headboard, his other elbow coming to rest beside John’s head.

John reached up, pulling Rodney’s mouth to his. His mouth was just as hot as the rest of him and Rodney lost himself in it, pounding into John as he came closer and closer.

Beneath him John gasped, mouth opening against his, and Rodney moved his hand up to hang onto the top of the headboard, holding himself up to shove his other hand against John's cock. 

John bucked against him, spurting wet and warm between them, pulling his mouth from Rodney’s to bury his face in Rodney’s neck.

John’s breath against his pulse pushed Rodney over the edge and he groaned, shoving into John and freezing as he came, hips jerking minutely with the pleasure coursing through him.

Collapsing onto John, he let out a moan, panting hard against John's cheek.

“Oh my god,” he said, muffled in the pillow. “Oh my god.”

He felt John breathe against him for a moment, but the afterglow shattered when a discordant clang sounded and both men were suddenly bathed in a bright light that faded slowly.

His calm gone, Rodney was suddenly cold, damp, and sticky. Pulling away gently, he blinked down at John. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Um. Thanks?” He’d slipped out as he softened, dribbling come on John’s thigh. Standing awkwardly as John sat up, he fumbled for his robe.

John was covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair a disaster, and Rodney couldn't stop staring at him. 

“You too,” said John, not meeting his eyes.

Rodney pulled his robes on quickly. “Well,” he said again, but couldn't think of how to follow it up, so he just nodded firmly. “Okay.”

And with that, he headed back to his quarters.

\------

“Hey.” John sat down beside Rodney in the empty Hufflepuff section, leaning back on the stands to look up at the darkening sky. 

“So. Elizabeth came by my quarters, and, um, it turns out we might have made a mistake.”

John gave Rodney a suspicious look. “Yeah?”

“It turns out that _perainomai_ , which we _thought_ meant intercourse may have just meant closeness. Like, talking. About feelings.” Rodney shook his head. “That’s what wizards get for basing their whole system on a soft science.”

“Rodney–”

“So I just wanted to say, well, I’m sorry. I should have double checked.”

“Are you sorry it happened?”

“No!” Rodney turned to face him, leaning in. “No, definitely not. It was–” he waved his arms, searching for the word, “–nice.”

“Nice?!” John looked offended. “Nice?”

“Better than nice! I just mean–” Rodney shifted uncomfortably, glancing out at the field. “I mean it was _nice_. I had a good time. Even though I thought we had to, it was better than I could have hoped for.” He swallowed and turned toward John again. “And I guess it made me think. About, you know, _us_.”

John looked a little pained. “Rodney–”

“No, no, let me finish. It made me think that maybe we’ve been kind of heading for this, you know? What with the being friends and you being super hot and me being brilliant, we cover it all. And I think I kind of wanted this? Not like that, obviously. I did not want a student involved, or the Headmistress. Or _Grathom_. But I like you. I like _us._ ” He swallowed hard. “And maybe we could try again? Without all the weird student magic.”

John was silent, his jaw working, face pale.

“Or not,” said Rodney hurriedly. “Or–or we could just keep doing what we did before. With the talking, and the clothes, and–”

“No.” John’s hands clutched the edge of the bench like it was the only thing holding him upright.

Rodney’s face fell. “Right. Well.” He started to stand. “Then, I guess I’ll see you around.”

He started to turn towards the stairs but John was there, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Oh! So what–mmph!” His question was muffled against John’s lips, hitting his nearly hard enough to bruise.

John pulled back. “Yeah, okay,” he said, breathlessly. “Let’s do this. No magic.”

Rodney processed for about a half second, then his face broke open in a massive grin. “Fantastic.”


End file.
